Thursday, September 27, 2012

A Poem for After Yom Kippur

What a childish poem! I must have been ten or eleven
when I wrote it.And yet, despite the
amateurish rhymes, it made my mother and aunt cry.

Grandpa,
I came to get acquainted

You
died before I could

But
I’m sure if I had known you

We’d
have gotten along real good.

O
Grandpa I wish you could tell me

Just
all about your life

How
you left your home and came here

With
three small children and a young wife.

And
Grandma- was she pretty?

What
kind of a wife was she?

I
wish that I had known her, too

I’m
sure that friends we’d be.

Grandpa,
can you tell me

Just
what you think and feel

When
you look down at your children?

Are
you so proud of them still?

What
would you say if you were here now?

Or
would you just leave them alone?

Mama
says they’re big now

And
have families of their own.

Grandpa,
are you happy here

Next
to Grandma and Molly?

Or
do you wish you could come back

And
help your family.

My aunt and mother cried, not from the beauty of the
verses, but because they shared my pain that prompted me to write them. That
pain came from the revelation that two of my relatives did not speak to each
other. I remember being shocked when my older cousin shared her information
with me. Suddenly, it became clear why we no longer had family gatherings with
all the family in attendance.

As time went on, if by some mistake they both came
to the same event, they would stay in different rooms. Meanwhile, they rest of
us would hold our breaths praying that they would finally have a
reconciliation. It didn’t happen. Every Yom
Kippur they would sit just a couple of rows apart. No matter what sermon the
rabbi gave about forgiveness it did not move them. They continued with their
stony silence.

And then, thirty years after they stopped speaking,
a miracle happened. They were at their sister’s funeral and her husband asked
them to make-up. Lo and behold they shook hands. Not only did they shake hands
but it was as if the thirty years of bitterness had never happened. Once close
siblings, they became closer than ever.

We are taught that the ten days leading up to Yom
Kippur are the most appropriate to asking for and giving forgiveness between
G-d, our fellowman and, even ourselves. For some reason, forgiveness between
family members is often the hardest to obtain. And yet, if we cannot get along
within our families how will we ever get along with the world?

My relatives were fortunate. HaShem gave them more
than ten years to compensate for all the lost time. They used that time well.
Yom Kippur is behind us now, but it is never too late to make peace with a
family member.

2 comments:

Ben and GMae were among the last to say goodbye to Dad when I took him to Texas and hospice. Forgiveness is always a blessing. Ben was there for Dad after Mom died. Dad was there for him too. It just ended and all was as before. I love your poem and read this blog with tears in my eyes remembering it all.Love Esther

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Born in Wichita, Kansas, I became a Baalat Teshuva, newly religious, in Phoenix, Arizona while attending ASU. After twelve years of marriage my husband and I made Aliyah with five children and settled in Shilo in the heart of Israel. Two more children joined the family as have daughters-in-law, sons-in-law, and grandchildren, Baruch HaShem. My favorite past times are learning, sewing, hiking, reading, cooking, baking, enjoying my family and friends, and, of course, writing. My first novel, Sondra’s Search, was published in 2007 and I am working on the sequel.